


Sensitive Baker Problems Outtakes

by sadbrowngirlpoetry



Series: Sensitive Baker Problems [2]
Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, First Date, Humor, Missing Scene, POV Alternating, POV Male Character, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 15:38:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadbrowngirlpoetry/pseuds/sadbrowngirlpoetry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scenes from Sensitive Baker Problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My First Date With Katniss Everdeen

**Author's Note:**

> Some lines - namely Rue's Lullaby - are partially or directly lifted from The Hunger Games and Catching Fire. Suzanne Collins owns the trilogy.

_we are shining  
and we'll never be afraid again_

Florence + the Machine, "Spectrum" __

_Thursday, April 10_

"So, you draw?" Katniss asks me one sunny afternoon ___–___ the afternoon of our first date.

I suppose my first date with Katniss Everdeen technically was that day at the lake, but, our first _date_ date occurred about a week later.

We are in the woods outside Twelve, sprawled across a rock ledge, eating blackberries we had plucked from the bushes around us.

"Obviously." I smile at her choice of words. "You make it sound so... useless," I say, barely suppressing a laugh.

"No offense, but it kinda is," she tells me in an apologetic tone.

"Would you care to give it a shot?" I suggest.

Katniss purses her lips. "I'm good at a lot of things; drawing isn't one of them," she shrugs.

I retrieve my charcoal pencil and smooth the crumpled pad of paper on my lap.

"Okay, then. Can you please stay still now?" I implore.

"Fine, whatever," she mutters.

* * *

Today is the first time in ten years that I hear her sing.

"Sing something. For me," I say.

"Sing some _—_ " Katniss purses her lips in scruple.

She closes her eyes, takes in a deep breath.

 _"Deep in the meadow, under the willow_  
 _A bed of grass, a soft green pillow,"_ she croons in a soft, melodic voice.

My eyes go wide. Whatever memories I have from that first day at school are too blurry, pale in comparison to what I am hearing now.

I notice a flock of mockingjays stopping their own song and listen to Katniss.

 _"Lay down your head, and close your eyes_  
 _And when they open, the sun will rise_.

_Here it's safe, and here it's warm_   
_Here the daisies guard you from every harm_   
_Here your dreams are sweet–_   
_–and tomorrow brings them true_   
_Here is the place where I love you._

_Here is the place where I love you."_

I am mesmerized ___–___ so much so, that I barely notice the tears streaming down Katniss' face, as she sings the last notes of the song.

"I'm sorry," she whispers sorrowfully. I can tell this song hits close to home. "My dad used to sing it to me," she says with a weak smile. "I guess it just reminds me of him."

I wrap my arms around her.

"I'm sorry. I can't fathom what it feels like, having lost a loved one," I whisper into her ear. "I suppose I'll think of what if feels like losing _you_ ," I allow.

Katniss turns her face to face me ___–___ the world around me turning into blurry, inconsistent patterns, as she tentatively leans in.

* * *

"It's weird," I tell her, as she fumbles with her braid.

Katniss bites her lower lip. "What is weird?" she eventually asks.

"Up until... _recently_ , you have been ignoring me. You weren't exactly _nice_ to me and _—_ Well, you get the point. How come the sudden change of heart?" I inquire.

"I thought you loved me despite all of my flaws," she replies, pouting slightly.

"No, but really. Who are you and what did you do to Katniss?" I banter.

Katniss simply shrugs.

"I guess I was wrong," she allows after a while.

"Wrong about what?"

"I don't know. People, I suppose."

"Wrong about people in _what_ way?"

Katniss considers my question for a minute. "My community did nothing to help my family when we were starving," she says.

"Yeah, but _—_ " I frown slightly. "Don't most people from the Seam suffer the same fate as you?" I ask. "In many ways, you would be considered lucky compared to them."

Katniss shakes her head. "No, no, no. I don't mean _them_. No offense, Peeta, but aren't townspeople better off? What ever happened to the sense of community and other grandiose perceptions of interdependence and commitment?"

I think about Katniss' obviously rhetorical question. She's right. While no one can say they _truly_ are better of, the people of the merchant class got the lion's share. While the Seam industry _—_ coal mining, essentially _—_ was the one that sustained District Twelve, it was always the miners and their families that starved. Never the florist, never the draper. Never the butcher. Never the baker.

"And I suppose you've realized that I'm not like that," I infer.

"I've known that for much longer than that," she says softly.

* * *

"I had a name for you," Katniss admits after a while.

Oh. So, she _had_ noticed me. "What was it?" I ask.

"The boy with the bread," she says, staring at her hands laying on her lap.

I can't help but crack a smile. After all, that was all I ever was to her. _The boy with the bread._

As if on cue with my my thoughts, Katniss adds, "That was all you were to me ______–______ _before_. So, I suppose your apparent inability to properly tie your shoelaces was a real piece of luck for you."

I laugh. "I'm surprised you actually remember this," I say. "And, yeah, I guess it really was." I bite the inside of my cheek. "I could probably say the same about Prim's fondness for me," I retort with a smirk.

"Perhaps," she admits.

* * *

I fiddle with her hair, braiding it in intricate patterns.

"What are you doing?" she asks _,_ her voice developing a familiar edge ______–______ the edge of hesitant, suspicious, incredulous Katniss.

"Just practicing my knots," I tell her.

"Hmph."

After a while, my hands go still.

"What is it?" Katniss asks, her voice barely audible through the rustling of leaves and the moan of the afternoon wind.

"I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever," I confess.

"Okay," she murmurs, and I know that, right here, right now, we're invincible.


	2. The Arena

_just close your eyes_ _  
until you can imagine this place  
yeah, our secret space at will_

__Snow Patrol, "Shut your Eyes"_ _

 

"Okay, Mellark. Let's see what you can do."

Glimmer: District 1 female tribute; skilled at being a horrible archer. 8.

I knew from the beginning that teaming up with the Careers was a foolish idea. I had decided to keep it a secret from Katniss - who would obviously oppose to the idea anyway - and had only revealed my plan to Haymitch.

I should have known it was a horrible plan when Haymitch agreed.

Of course, when I ran straight for the Cornucopia, my plan became evident to her.

"Run," Haymitch had said.

Katniss ran.

I remember her betrayed expression, as she disappeared behind the foliage. She didn't wait.

And, frankly, at that moment, I ceased to care.

Because the knife of the boy from District 4 was inches away from puncturing my flesh.

"I told you, Glimmer. He can't do it," a shrill voice pierces my ear and I cast the knife forward.

Clove: District 2 female tribute; small in size, but great with knives. Quite terrifying. 9.

Bullseye. Or, rather, axis of the pine trunk. Same difference.

"How 'bout _that_ , Lover Boy," a low voice calls.

Cato: District 2 male tribute; leader of the Career pack; brute force extraordinaire. Deranged, I suspect. 10.

"Not bad at all," he continues after a brief pause. "Yes, sparing your life wasn't such a bad decision after all." (Of course, he fails to mention that sooner or later one of us will be dead, kaput, _dunzo._ )

"That was cool, man," I hear someone say appreciatively.

Marvel: District 1 male tribute; overall a nice guy, but you don't want to get in the way of his spear. 10.

I nod in response.

"Seems as if the Gamemakers are hellbent on burning us to death," he remarks casually, as he settles on a smooth rock under the shade of a large pine. I join him.

"Hey, Three!" Cato shouts. The boy from District 3 looks up from a container he uses as a writing surface.

Lance: District 3 male tribute; has extensive knowledge of the land mines below the Cornucopia; not particularly strong. I wonder when they'll decide to get rid of him - probably before me. 3.

"C'mon, man, we're burning up over here! Aren't you, like, a fuckin' genius?" he continues, bursting into loud guffaws. The rest of the Career pack, sprawled across the bank, cackle.

Marvel snorts.

I have a feeling I will get along with this guy.

By the way; Peeta Mellark, also known as Lover Boy: District 12 male tribute; skilled with knifes; excels in hand-to-hand combat; can frost one hell of a cake; is a freaking idiot. 8.

* * *

The Careers go hunting at _night_.

It fits them, really.

Not that they wouldn't be equally strong or terrifying during the day, but the darkness works to their advantage; their preys are weaker, more vulnerable during the night. It's easier to kill a sleeping teenager than one that is running for their lives.

Katniss is probably - hopefully - belted in a fork, twenty feet above the ground. But it's not her I'm worried of.

The smoke that raises above the lower treeline, about fifty feet ahead from us, induces laughs by the Careers.

I saunter forward, prepared to witness the last moments of another innocent teenager, offering to the gluttonous Capitol audience.

* * *

She begs.

She begs for her life as Marvel digs the knife into her abdomen.

And _I_ return for the last blow.

They are probably already plotting my death.

* * *

Fire.

When the foul smell of smoke invades my nostrils, I am not alarmed - used as I am, as a baker.

The wall of fire that dawns on us, however, is significantly deadlier than the stove at the bakery.

At first, we think we have escaped - but the hiss registers too late.

The fireballs, flying in every direction, are merely the size of apples, but they scorch trees and bring down enormous branches that send sparks on our head and shoulders.

It takes all the strength I've got to not cry out when one hits my chest.

The Careers all receive their burn medicine from their respective sponsors. Haymitch must be lying in a pond of vomit and white liquor - or simply hates me. Or, most likely, both.

I pause to examine and assess my injuries - nothing major, for the most part, but I can _feel_ the heat coming from the burn mark on my chest.

* * *

I can't tell reality from fantasy anymore.

_Damn tracker jackers._

* * *

_But you did it to protect her_ , I told myself when I killed - _murdered_ \- the male tribute from District 4. (Okay, Peeta? Next time you decide to become _allies_ with someone, make sure you don't actually _kill_ them.)

And when the District 8 girl pleaded me to spare her life that first night...

...and when I killed the District 10 boy on one of my dehydration days...

...I was only trying to protect her, to ensure that _she_ would survive. While, you know, keeping myself alive in order to keep doing so.

So what if District 12 would hate me?

So what if Hawthorne would hate me?

So what if little Primrose Everdeen would hate me?

They would be thankful when Katniss returned home... as a victor.

* * *

And then Claudius Templesmith announces that there would be _two_ victors.

That meant we can _both_ go home - unless, of course, Katniss hates me, which, I suppose, _would_ make sense.

* * *

The _splish splosh_ of steps disrupting the calm of the stream awakens me from my asleep/dying state.

I immediately assume it's Cato, but no... it can't be. Cato never roams the woods without his precious bodyguards, the remaining Careers - after Marvel's death, it's just him and Clove.

"Peeta," a wary voice whispers. My eyes spring open.

I was right. It's not Cato.

It's a voice I didn't expect to hear again.

"Peeta," Katniss Everdeen repeats.

Katniss Everdeen: District 12 female tribute; skilled archer and overall badass; love of my life. 11.

* * *

"Shut up and eat your broth, Peeta Mellark."

"I'd rather _you_ made something for me." _Crap, Mellark. Great, now she's glaring. Could you stop lacing your comments with unintentional sexism?_

It's true, though; I like her cooking. It has flavor and I like that. I try not to think too much about our last days in Twelve, but sometimes I can't help it.

"I'm not kissing you until you eat it," Katniss snaps back at me. If it weren't for her ever so slightly turned up lips, I would be terrified.

* * *

Blood.

There's too much blood.

Gushing from Katniss' wound.

Splashed all over her shirt.

On my hands.

Too much blood.

* * *

I scold her for risking her life at the feast. Okay, she _did_ save my life - _again_ \- but why does she have to undervalue _hers_ so much?

* * *

But she doesn't hate me.

It is like those mornings at the lake again. It is simple and easy and natural, and who cares if we don't make it home after all?

We are together.


	3. Talking Heads

_you could be happy, i hope you are  
you made me happier than i'd been by far_

Snow Patrol, "You Could Be Happy"

 

 

**i.**

People are talking.

At first, he questions the validity of the gossip. It _is_ gossip, after all.

If Gale Hawthorne wasn't so damn preoccupied with hunting, and poaching, and, you know, protecting his family from starvation, he would have done something about it. What that would be, he doesn't know.

"I didn't think she was like the rest of them, but, you know, she's one hot piece of ass," he hears a merchant kid whisper to his friends at school, and it takes all the restraint his has not to shove his head in his own ass.

* * *

**ii.  
**

Gale knows he's screwed the moment he crawls under the electric-except-not-really fence that separates Twelve from whatever lies beyond.

Burlap sack hanging from his shoulder, he walks with tentative steps toward the sixteen year-old girl standing across from him.

Hands crossed: check. Scowl: check. Foot tapping: check.

Before he even gets a chance to utter a single syllable, Katniss snaps at lightning speed, "Why did you tell my mother that I'm dating Peeta Mellark?"

Gale shifts uncomfortably and rubs the back of his neck with a shaky hand.

"I... thought you did," he falters. _Liar._

"And what exactly gave you that impression?" she counters.

"Well, he's obviously in love with you." To which Katniss snorts. "And... people gossip. A lot." That seems to spark Katniss' interest.

"What are you talking about?" she asks eventually.

Gale knows she is just playing dumb. As if she doesn't know the names townies call her. It's not Mellark's fault, but _he_ doesn't get called _anything_ , and Gale would love to have someone to blame; so the merchant boy who's always had it easy will be that someone.

So, he replies dryly, "You damn well know what I'm talking about." Katniss glares at him, but he isn't phased. Instead, he continues, "Hanging out with that Mellark kid... Of course people would start talking."

"It's none of their business," Katniss retorts.

"So you're not denying it." Gale clenches his hands into fists, and bites his lip in anticipation to her answer.

"There's nothing to deny, Gale," she sighs. "Because there's _nothing_ going on. We're just friends. I think."

Gale is relieved that Katniss Everdeen isn't dating Peeta Mellark, but he doesn't let it show. He shrugs indifferently, mentions something about snares, and hopes Katniss doesn't hear his heart hammering against his rib cage.

* * *

**iii.**

Gale Hawthorne wants to punch Peeta Mellark in that pretty, pale face of his.

He thinks he has misheard when that idiot, Dave Corwin, blurts out Mellark's most recent escapades in the locker room.

"So, how was it?"

"What was?"

"The kiss, you dick!"

"Shh! What is wrong with you?"

"C'mon, dude... We're alone. So... ?"

"It was... It was great."

"Great. Just great? Details, man."

"Shut up."

"Oh, look- He's blushing!" There is the distinct sound of a blow, and Mellark's friend groans. "Fine, I'll shut up."

 _Okay_ , he reassures himself, _you don't know it was her. I mean, it could be anyone._ Of course, accepting "anyone" puts another into the equation, and Gale Hawthorne would _still_ have to kick Mellark's ass for toying with Katniss' feelings.

He doesn't intend to, but his long face becomes apparent to Katniss.

"Hey, everything okay?" she asks him warily.

 _Must. Avoid. Eye contact._ Gale fiddles with a twig. "Nope," he says, popping the 'p'.

Katniss pulls her arrow from hollow log and hoists the quiver over her shoulder. "Okay then."

"Did you kiss Mellark?" he blurts out and immediately wishes he didn't. Katniss shoots a deadly glare at him - she might as well have shot an arrow through his heart.

"Where. Did. You. Hear that?" she asks brusquely, uttering every word as a single, snippy syllable.

"Nowhere." _Nice cover-up, idiot._

Hey, maybe she'll think Peeta told him and break it off with him.

"Did... Did Peeta?"

Gale sighs. "No, he didn't. Well, I overheard him talking about it with his best friend in the locker room." Katniss' glare grows even more intimidating. "No one else was around," he offers.

"Good."

"So, it's true?"

"Eh..."

Yeah, Gale Hawthorne is fairly sure he wants to punch Peeta Mellark in that pretty, pale face of his.

* * *

**iv.**

"Did you hear the news, Kathy?" the lady with the yellow hair says, sipping tea from a porcelain cup. Her purple dress is frayed at the edges, and her shoes are smeared with mud, but she doesn't mind, because she is _still_ better off than the Seam brat waiting at the door.

"About Mellark's son and that _miner_ 's daughter?" Kathy asks casually.

Gale Hawthorne glares at the woman and her daughter.

The burlap sack in his grasp contains their dinner, and they _insult_ him in his face.

"Yes. To be completely frank with you, dear, I expected it from Everdeen. It runs in the family." There is a snorting sound before she continues, "But Mellark? I thought his mother had taught him well."

The sound of labored steps muffles their voices, and a man appears in the doorway. Gale hands him the burlap sack, and the man sets two coins in his palm.

The door is slammed shut in his face.

* * *

**v.**

She is smiling.

It's so strange to see her smiling, outside the woods.

It's strange, but it's _glorious_.

For the first time, her hair is free of her braids, and the black curtains fall on her shoulders - silky strands slip from behind her ears and touch her forehead and her cheeks.

She isn't sitting alone on the lunch table, like she usually does.

Peeta Mellark, a bright smile plastered on his pale face, is sitting beside her, a slightly crumpled piece of paper on one hand, a charcoal pencil on the other.

He is drawing her.

Gale's heart sinks in his chest - but it's all right.

Peeta Mellark makes Catnip smile, and there's nothing he would want more.

People are still talking, of course, but their chatter is merely a buzz in the back of his head. Catnip doesn't - and never did - care for them.

He thinks he might go to the woods alone tomorrow.

  
_the end_ **  
**  



End file.
